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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005309">Swinging Party</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking &amp; Talking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, References to Depression, Visions of N'Zoth, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:08:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>"...If being wrong's a crime, I'm serving forever; if being strong is what you want, then I need help here with this feather. If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side..."<br/>-Paul Westerberg</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Swinging Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"...If being wrong's a crime, I'm serving forever; if being strong is what you want, then I need help here with this feather. If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side..."<br/>-Paul Westerberg</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the hours of the cerulean sky, he was the epitome of strength, honor, and courage. He was a strong, compassionate leader: guiding his followers to victory and salvation. He was a shining beacon in the world of darkness: lighting the way for all who sought hope. He was a holy character: unadulterated by corruption or malice. He was wise beyond his years: using the infallible knowledge bestowed upon him to bring tranquility and security to his subjects. Everyone in his city knew and loved his name and shouted it proudly.</p><p>In the hours of the indigo sky, he was despondent, fragile, and lonely. He was anguished: his heavy heart escaped his mortal self through flowing tears and running blood. He was distressed: the Light could do nothing to ease his suffering, despite the healing he could bestow upon others. He was pained: the strength of the once-proud lion left his soul, leaving him at the mercy of old maladies and afflictions. No one in his city conceded nor solaced his truth, and no one would dare to whisper it.</p><p>He sat on the floor of his chamber’s balcony, his back against the stone wall, and facing away from the city. The darkness and cold of the night crept in, embracing the sky, chasing the warm sun back towards Kalimdor. He shivered as the wind whispered sweet nothings to him, gripping the bottle tighter in his hand.</p><p>Immediately after shedding the blue and gold armor of kings, he went through his routine: leaving behind his courteous smiles and words, closing the doors of his chambers, and sitting in his room in the company of a bottle of a typical or strong alcoholic beverage, reserving the extremely potent bottles for the worst of nights. Normally, just half the bottle was enough to take him to the realm of dreams, but in the event of exceptions he would drink until he was ill, or until the sun returned: whichever came first.</p><p>He put the bottle of brightsong down on the stone tile next to him, watching the sky as blue and yellow yielded to orange and red. Already feeling tipsy, his lips curled into what could have been a smile, and he closed his eyes, listening to the oblivious, faintly distant clamor of Old Town, casting the whispers from his thoughts. Numbness, from both his mind and the wine, was spreading through his body, partially alleviating the furious pain which resided within him.</p><p>The laughter of children traveled enough to reach his ears: the sound of happiness bringing jealousy to his heart with a crash. Grimacing, he plucked the bottle from beside his still-aching knee and took another swig of the sweet alcohol. The drink tasted odd to him, but he enjoyed the foreign sweetness, assuming it had been a nobleman’s gift.</p><p>Staring at his distorted reflection on the bottle’s surface, he thought back to his father. It would seem that he had inherited the late king’s coping mechanism. Still looking at his sullen face, he wondered if the greenish tint of the glass was an alcohol sickness surfacing. When he felt nothing from his stomach, he sipped more of the beverage.</p><p>Today, he was feeling notably devoid of joy—despite the prosperity around him. He couldn’t wait for the cover of darkness before indulging his thirst for non-sobriety. He shouldn’t be complaining; he tried to tell himself that everything was fine.</p><p>The Fourth War was long over, and tensions between the races have primarily died down. Plans in preparation for N’Zoth were already underway. Families were reuniting, new relationships were developing, and resources were being returned and shared.</p><p>Despite the lack of knowledge of Old Gods or Banshees, life across Azeroth was still functioning smoothly, having taken a turn for the better of all. However, despite the success that his strives for peace have arrived at, he always felt empty.</p><p>He refused to let his emotions show to anyone else, lest he begins a panic, but the darkness stirred within him, invoking despair and doubt. The mere appearance of one figure from his past, combined with seeing the city’s spymaster happy with his lover, had fanned an already-existing spark into a flame of envy, plunging his heart further into an abyss which grew darker and darker, possibly with the help of The Corruptor….</p><p>An odd knock at his door snatched him from his looming thoughts. He stared into his chambers at the wooden pair of doors which were furthest away from him. Irritated, he contemplated answering the door or ignoring the guest. He had requested not to be bothered in the evenings, except the case of emergencies. Although it was still early and the sun had not finished setting, Anduin had assumed all non-imminent happenings would wait until the morning. He realized his pondering had taken up more than a moment when the knock sounded again.</p><p>He still had not made a decision, when the door suddenly opened. He had forgotten to lock the doors! Scowling to himself, he hardly acknowledged the figure quietly walking over to him on the balcony. Only when pointed boots were before him did he look up to see the new advisor. His heart froze in his chest.</p><p>“Would you mind if I joined you?” Wrathion asked, the signature smirk absent from his face, and a charismatic charm missing from his words. Anduin stared up at him in disbelief, having forgotten that the dragon had postponed his departure to Silithus. He studied the prince's face, trying to discern the emotions which were normally so well hidden. He feared seeing disgust at his current state in the dragon's eyes but saw only concern. The priest simply shrugged at the dragon, who sat on his left after the gesture was given.</p><p>They both sat in silence, to Anduin’s content. He hadn’t seen Wrathion in years, nor had he heard from him. There was no indication given to Anduin that the Black Prince was even alive. He had been furious that Wrathion had appeared as suddenly as he had vanished, but he was relieved as well. Anduin wanted to ask all the questions he could think of, but his mind and mouth were stumbling over the presence of alcohol. Instead, he offered the bottle to the dragon, who took it after a moment of hesitation. They passed the remains of the bottle back and forth.</p><p>As deep blue finally chased away the sky’s fire, the long silence was finally broken.</p><p>“Anduin,” The dragon managed seemingly fighting with several emotions.</p><p>“Hmm?” The priest hummed in response, playing with the empty bottle. He still wasn’t fully drunk, but he oddly felt satisfied in the dragon’s company.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Wrathion paused, seemingly searching for more words to add on. He stared at his trembling hands instead of at the king he spoke to, “I wish I hadn’t done what I had. I wish everything were different. I hope you can...” He broke off, looking at Anduin.</p><p>The High King neither frowned nor smiled as he regarded his old friend. “I-it’s in the past, Wrathion,” He stuttered, putting the bottle back on the stone. “All that has happened was resolved or will be resolved in one way or another. We have other things to...to take care of.” He clenched his fist, thinking of the visions and whispers that have been augmenting his depression. He felt a new kind of helpless seeing the entire city wiped out in the blink of an eye: no one would be left to hope for a brighter future.</p><p>Wrathion looked at him with saddened eyes. “How long has it been happening?” He asked, still able to read Anduin’s body language. His eyes gave the king’s pale face a crimson hue, being the only near light source.</p><p>“Barely a week after Orgrimmar,” He recounted. His mind was assaulted as soon as hands were shaken and treaties were signed. Immediately, everyone had turned against one another in desperation, tearing apart what so many had died to accomplish. Anduin shook his hand, returning to what was left of reality, “He loves to show me my worst fears.”</p><p>Anduin grabbed for the bottle, then remembered it was empty. He wanted to grab another bottle, but Wrathion placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think we’ve both had enough,” Wrathion said caringly, to the king’s dismay. Anduin still ached, wanting the numbness to take over, but he had to wait while in the company of the dragon.</p><p>“I’ve heard the Old Gods for a long time now,” Wrathion began, hand lingering on Anduin’s shoulder. “They’ve tried to seduce me with power and glory; tried to tell me it was the only way I could protect this world. When that failed, they tried to force me through fear. I almost failed the world: they showed me all the great cities burning and in ruin, and I was fine, but when they showed me you, I-i almost…” Wrathion’s usually collected voice broke. His hand had made it’s way up to caress the king’s cheek. “I had never felt so helpless. You were the only one that mattered to me, and I needed to come back to you, but I was so afraid. I thought that you would hate me, or that—”</p><p>“There wasn’t a day that I didn’t think about you,” Anduin cut him off, feeling tears streaming down his face. “After all the battles and wars, I had hoped, just like everyone else, someone I loved would return to me. I-i didn’t care about the crimes or the ransoms: I just needed to know that you were alive. When the Legion came, I had hoped, more than ever, that you would return: that you would finish what you started back in Pandaria. When no one came back to me: not my father, nor you, I broke...I had nothing.” The dragon’s thumb was brushing the rolling tears away, but more continued to flow from the priest’s blue eyes. “I-i’m terrified, Wrathion. Everything looks like it’s alright, but I have this feeling, He’s just going to destroy it all. I don’t know what to do, I feel alone, no one understands how bad this is, and I’m so lost and—”</p><p>He, too, was cut off from his ramblings, but instead by the soft push of lips against his. The dragon had been torn between options, he hadn't been sure whether to kiss the king on the cheek or on his forehead or even his nose. The dragon went to place a kiss on the corner of the priest's mouth, but in the last moment, he couldn't resist his urge and he went straight for Anduin's lips.</p><p>The kiss lingered for a moment, a moment enough for Anduin to briefly return the action, then Wrathion slowly pulled away. He slowly moved his dark hand from the side of the king’s face to hold his pale, scarred hand. Their eyes met, the emotions behind the tears lying within made clear. The gesture was short, but it spoke a million unsaid words. It told Anduin that Wrathion still loved him, and when Anduin smiled, it told Wrathion that the priest still loved him.</p><p>“I promise you, you’re not alone, Anduin. You’ve never been. But I’m here for you now. We-you’ll get through all of this, I promise.” Wrathion said, squeezing Anduin’s hand. “I promise.” He repeated, sadly.</p><p>Anduin could only nod, not trusting his voice to reply. He wanted to kiss the other again, but he refrained, wishing to save such bliss his sobriety. He moved closer to Wrathion, laying his head on the other’s shoulder. Wrathion’s left hand moved to join his right, holding the king's trembling hand. They both sat in silence again, holding each other tightly and looking up at the onyx sky. Despite the peace presented here to him, his mind wandered, still riddled with dread.</p>
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